


One Thing I Need From You

by Dredfulhapiness



Series: Our Nation Turns Its Lonely Eyes To You [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), iron lad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 06:39:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19458451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dredfulhapiness/pseuds/Dredfulhapiness
Summary: “If something goes wrong I want to be able to help.” Peter looked up from the fidget spinner he was playing with.“And what,” Harley said, leaning back in his chair and putting a foot on the workbench, “do you think you’re going to be able to do?”“I don’t know— catch you or something?” Peter spun the spinner. “Did Mr. Stark ever tell you about the first time he took his suit up?”





	One Thing I Need From You

Peter insisted on being there the first time Harley took the suit out for a test run. 

“Why?” Harley asked. 

“If something goes wrong I want to be able to help.” Peter looked up from the fidget spinner he was playing with. 

“And what,” Harley said, leaning back in his chair and putting a foot on the workbench, “do you think you’re going to be able to do?” 

“I don’t know— catch you or something?” Peter spun the spinner. “Did Mr. Stark ever tell you about the first time he took his suit up?” 

“Making sure it didn’t ice over was one of my first priorities.” Harley couldn’t help looking at the toy. It was Captain America branded, and when it spun the colors formed the shield. “Besides, that suit weighs more than you do, plus my weight. You’re gonna catch that?”

“I can stop a car with my bare hands.” When Harley only regarded Peter with an unamused stare he tried, “I could also web you.” The expression didn’t change. “Fine— I just— fuck you, I want to be there,” he finally stammered, and Harley snorted. 

That’s how they ended up trudging through the forest behind Harley’s town. 

“You go first,” Harley told him at the edge of trees. “I don’t want to walk into any spider webs.” Peter hit him with an incredulous stars. “What? Are you afraid of spiders?” 

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “No, I’m not afra— at this point,” he said, waving his arms, “it’s just bullying.” He walked in front anyway, making a point to shove away any branches that covered their path. “are we sure the woods are the right place for this?” 

“If something goes wrong there’s places for you to web me,” Harley said. He was lugging the suit in a crudely folded box. “But I won’t fall on anyone or any buildings.”

“You could start a fire, though,” Peter pointed out. Harley hummed. “I built in a fire extinguisher.” When Peter stopped and turned, Harley corrected before he opened his mouth, “I’m kidding. I’m kidding. It’ll be fine.” 

Peter wished he’d brought his suit. He was decently sure Karen had a fire extinguisher hidden in there somewhere. 

As they walked, Peter felt anticipation building in his chest, a fluttering in his stomach. What if it didn’t work? And then, a greater question: what if it did? Where would they go from there? He glanced back at Harley, who looked intense, and focused, and was staring past Peter, looking at a future that Peter couldn’t quite see yet. Harley was a lot better at that: seeing all the options. He wasn’t bogged down by the worst possible solution because he’d already lost everything. 

But that bothered Peter, too. If they built that suit and it worked, where did it leave them? The thought made him sad. They’d become friends over this, bonded over this. In fact, their cheap attempts at being teenagers had fallen apart rather easily. They tried to watch television until one of them jumped up, unprompted, with an idea or someone got bored. They tried to go out to dinner and Peter had needed to step in and stop a robbery across the street. Peter longed, not for the first time, for the chance to be seventeen. 

So, if the suit worked: Peter worried he may not see much of Harley anymore. 

But, if the suit didn’t work: what did that mean for Harley? He’d been working on this long before Peter came into the picture— before Tony had died, even. He’d be crushed if it didn’t work. He’d be…

Peter thought about what life must have been like for Harley the past five years. Alone, scared, working to protect himself from something he couldn’t even name. Armageddon, the rapture, the apocalypse, as Harley himself had put it:  the end of the fucking world . If the suit failed, now, when Harley actually had people to protect, where would that leave him? Who would he be? At what point would he cross a bridge of despair that even Peter couldn’t pull him back across? 

It had to work. For Harley. 

“There should be a clearing up here somewhere,” Harley said. “My sister and I used to hang out back here a lot.” 

Peter took a moment to admire his surroundings. The woods weren’t something he was used to— though, the tall, looming trees were a familiar comfort. I made him feel better than the suburban layout of Harley’s town. If something went wrong, there was a way out. If he needed to hide, there was cover. He let himself relax. They came to the clearing. There was a half-assed fire pit in the middle, and a group of logs surrounding it. Peter turned to say something, but faltered when he saw the look on Harley’s face. He looked… grief-stricken, staring at the makeshift camp, and Peter was going to ask him something but the words died on his lips when they made eye contact. 

“Ready to get this thing set up?” Harley asked, lifting the box. 

They prepped in silence. Peter could feel the weight of this moment. He knew Harley could feel it, too, because he kept checking everything once, twice, three times, and gnawing at his lips and then checking again. It reminded Peter of the first time he’d thrown himself off the side of a building. As he fell, he realized that it had come down to one moment— if the web shooters failed, he was done for. Game over. No second chances. 

When his fall had been impeded by a tug at his shoulder, Peter had nearly choked on his relief. When Harley, donning his self-made armor, put a hand to his chest and saw it light up, Peter could have cried. 

With a cloud of smoke and a wicked smile that was covered with a helmet, Harley took to the air. Slowly, at first, like a horse learning to walk. He hovered over the leaves, clearing them, arms out to steady himself. Then a little bit higher, level with the tops of the trees, confidence rising along with him. Peter watched with his webshooters out, ready, but Harley didn’t seem to need him. He skimmed the canopy of the trees, and then he was off, flying, in the air and free and suddenly Peter wanted to be swinging around Manhattan. He wanted to feel free again, and powerful, and detached from it all. 

For the first time in months, he wanted to be Spider-Man again. 

Watching Harley fly around made Peter’s chest swell. He hadn’t expected to feel proud at the end of all of this— he wasn’t even sure when the last time he had felt proud was— but they’d built that. 

All the times he’d saved the city (or, more recently, the world) he’d never felt the pride that came along with creating something. He became Spider-Man because it was the right thing to do, because  not  being Spider-Man had cost him so, so much. 

He hadn’t been required to build this. He and Harley did it because they wanted to, because they wanted a chance to leave the world a little bit better than they found it. There was no responsibility in the trial and error, and Peter wondered if this was what Tony had felt like when he built the first suit after getting out of the cave.

Or had he felt the way Peter sometimes felt donning his Spidersuit? Heavy. Scared. 

It wasn’t until Harley had landed and taken his helmet off, that the image of Steve carrying Tony off the battlefield hit him. Peter couldn’t shake the image. That was what Harley was signing up for, after all. At the least, a life of exhaustion, and loneliness. At the most....

“Why are you giving me that look?” Harley tossed the helmet at him. Peter just barely caught it with the tips of his fingers. 

“Just in awe,” he said. “It worked.” 

“Wanna get in and give it a shot?” Harley raised an eyebrow. 

Peter considered it. “I couldn’t,” he said, and he wasn’t saying it to be polite. Harley dropped his gaze. Peter stared on, past him, at the trees. 

“Next week,” Harley said, “blasters?” He pushed a button, stepped out of the suit, and watched as it folded back into a box. The helmet slipped from Peter’s grip to join the other pieces. 

“I would,” Peter said, “but I have plans.”

“With MJ?” Harley said. He tilted his head, smirked. Peter shot a web at him that he just barely dodged. It stuck on the tree behind him, hanging loose in the wind and Harley’s smile didn’t falter. 

It made Peter feel bad for feeling uneasy. 

“Ned. He’s got an Overwatch comp.” Peter shrugged his backpack over his shoulder. “We should head back.”

“People still play Overwatch?” Harley grunted as he lifted the box. 

“People played it in 2018,” Peter pointed out, but he said it the same way he’d give a eulogy. 

“Right,” Harley said, as if he’d forgotten. “2018.”

The walk back was mostly silent. The triumph had been replaced with something Peter couldn’t quite name— something salty, and putrid, and lost. Five years lost. It was something Peter tried not to dwell on after he’d crossed Strange’s portal, while he was stood in the vast mansion of 177A Bleeker Street and being ushered out the door by Doctor Strange who, apparently, had no time for him despite 1) the literal time stone and 2) their adventure in space. 

Peter wasn’t very good at not thinking about it, just like he wasn’t very good at not thinking about Tony. About Tony’s death, about his family left behind. 

But he was getting better. Slowly. It was getting easier. 

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write this fic as a way to keep myself too busy to write and post Far From Home fic? Yes. Yes I did. 
> 
> Title from Comethru by Jeremy Zucker
> 
> If you have any questions, comments, concerns or just wanna talk headcanons, feel free to come talk to me on Twitter or tumblr @dredfulhapiness. I love talking about these boys! You can also leave a comment if you’d like— they always make me smile.


End file.
